Spoils of War
by raven612
Summary: Two gangs are waring in the London streets. Murder and mystery abound with Sherlock and John caught in the midst of it all. Can Sherlock solve the mystery and keep himself and John safe? Can he also let down the walls of his heart before he loses John?
1. ReCon

**Spoils of War**

**By: **Raven612

**Chapter 1: **ReCon

**Summary: **A war is breaking out in the London underground. Innocent people are being killed in the crossfire. The normal people think it's just gang fallout, but Sherlock and John know the truth. Can they prove it, and bring those responsible for it to justice before the war claims one of their own? Slash. J/S.

**Disclaimer: **If you think I might own these boys, well then we share the same daydream. I do not own them. They belong to Gatiss, Mofitt, Doyle, BBC, the UK, and whoever else has the money and the power to claim them.

**A/N: **Originally this was going to be titled, "To Possess Dr. John Watson," but then the story decided to go in a different direction. I wanted to explore the concept of John Watson, unknowingly, being England's greatest and deadliest weapon. In theory, should someone take John from Sherlock, they can nearly gain whatever they want because they could control Sherlock, and through Sherlock, they can control the British government. That concept is still going to be explored, but in a different way than I had originally wanted. I will also tell you right off the bat that I have no beta, sniffle sniffle, and nor do I know a lot about England or London, but I will try to be as British as I can. I can't promise that I will catch everything, but I will try. Also, fair warning, **there will be slash, which means man on man action. **The story is rated M for a reason! There will be blood, gore, drugs, drug references, gangs, lots of slash, murders, suicide, angst till the cows come home, and occasional fluff and happy. If anything in that list gives you pause, please go back now. So, with all of that intro crap out of the way, let me wrap up by saying, I love reviews, they fuel my posting speed and I love creative criticism. You can find me on tumblr under the handle of: iamsherlockedandtied. Thank you all for everything, and I hope you enjoy this new story!

* * *

"_And to the victor go the spoils."_

"What the hell am I wearing, Sherlock?" John's voice pierced the fog of Sherlock's mind, nearly the only thing that could. The detective looked up from where he sat poised in his chair. He had his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The cogs of his mind had been churning and groaning for nearly twelve hours now. He and John had recently been called in to assist DI Lestrade who was investigating a sting of gang related murders. Things between two London based gangs were heating up, and innocent people were getting caught in the crossfire as the gangs battled for turf and members. With everything in his head, Sherlock had almost forgotten his request to John this morning for his assistance going undercover.

"Sherlock, is this really necessary, I think this defeats the purpose of, 'undercover,'" he muttered and plucked at the tight fabric hugging his abs. He hadn't worn such clothing in years, and he wondered what purpose they would serve tonight. He looked up to see Sherlock studying him. He frowned and looked away crossing his arms over his chest.

"Dog tags," Sherlock finally said as he unfolded his long limbs and stood.

John turned his gaze back to Sherlock, his frown worsened, "Seriously? We're going to a club aren't we? Some sort of loud club where the drinks are made too strong and legs spread with the simplest word?"

Sherlock cocked a brow, "Should I be alarmed that you're well versed in the club etiquette?"

John gave him a look, and snorted, "I'm a single man from the Army, I needed my kicks somewhere, now what do you want with my tags?" he asked the detective as he brushed his palms along the tight denim encasing his lean and muscular thighs.

Sherlock sighed and turned away from John to head for the door, "Wear them outside of your shirt, they give off a sort of charm that attracts people easily. We want to be sought out tonight. We need information, and if we're lucky enough, the man we're after might vie for one of our affections," he stated as he shrugged into a short blazer. The jacket was a dark black and hung to Sherlock's hips. The back of it pulled nicely over his shoulders. It showed off his lean physique. We wore a pair of tight black jeans with a pale blue, v-neck tee shirt. His curls were masterfully disorganized and a leather cord with a silver pendant dangled from his neck.

John furrowed his brows, but did as Sherlock asked, "I don't see why you didn't just dress me up in my uniform, that would twist some knickers more than these tags could," John retorted as he finally looked up at Sherlock. A flash of appreciation crossed his eyes and he did a once over of his flatmate. He grinned and looked down at himself. He wore an outfit Sherlock picked out for him. Apparently John was incapable of choosing his own clothes. He had been a bit miffed at the discovery, but had to admit that it worked out well for him now. He wore a tight black tee shirt with a pair of dark blue jeans that fit snugly in all the right places and made his arse look downright mouth watering, he had to admit, he didn't look half bad.

Sherlock watched John study himself for a second before letting out a sigh and tossing him his black coat, "I assure you, you look fine, now stop being so self conscious and let's go. We need to move quickly," Sherlock huffed as he pulled the door open. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he quickly descended the stairs. John hardly had time to catch up before the detective's long legs were being pulled into the back of a cab.

* * *

John looked around the club. Despite all the bodies and glasses of alcohol floating around, everything managed to look new and shiny. He was brought back to his earlier days of club hopping, when he was actively looking for a mate, but now, he was happy in his life with a stream of girlfriends, thanks to Sherlock, and solving crimes with a self prescribed Sociopath. He looked around, there seemed to be more males than females, but John figured it was due to it being a weeknight. He removed his jacket and handed it to the girl at the counter. He flashed a smile, but she paid him no heed. He frowned and was turning to ask Sherlock where the loo was, but the lanky detective was gone. John frowned. He looked around the immediate area, but couldn't find Sherlock. He muttered to himself and decided it was best to head for the bar. He slide into a stool and ordered a Bass. He had his back to the raucous dance floor, something he didn't particularly find interesting now with his age. The woman serving behind the bar slide his bottle to him before heading off to deal with the throng of men and women down at the other end. He sighed and stared down his bottle a moment before looking up. His eyes followed a trail of neon green to the DJ booth. His gaze skipped around the floor at the different bodies dancing, and again it seemed to be more male than female. John didn't have a problem with that, but he wondered about Sherlock, and just as the thought entered his mind he caught sight of the man.

John's eyes grew in their sockets. A slow breathed flowed from his lips as he watched the body Sherlock possessed move to the music. The man was flawless. His lanky form should be awkward and gangly, but his movements were controlled and calculated, just like everything he did in life. Not only could Sherlock create music with his fingers, but right now his body was creating poetry. John was in awe. He'd never seen anyone move to gracefully before. It wasn't so much as sensual as it was artful. His hips moved in tandem to the beat and his arms moved over his body, as if by that action alone he could portray the music he was hearing.

John's tongue snaked out to wet his lips. His eyes blinked slowly, not wanting to hamper the vision in any way. As John watched Sherlock's body on the floor, he was unaware of the things his own body was doing, and much without his knowledge. He frowned, and looked down, well that was great. He sighed and turned back to the bar and placed his elbows onto it. Of course Sherlock would dance like a beautiful wanker, it wasn't enough that lately John wrestled with these new feelings for Sherlock, but he had to drag him here and then leave him to do what he was doing on the dance floor, which, not to John's liking, was drawing a lot of attention. John sighed again and sagged even more against the counter, one of his hands clasped around the cold, sweaty bottle of beer in front of him.

"Friend or lover?" a voice asked from John's right.

John jumped slightly and looked up seeing a man clad in a grey suite leaning against the bar next to him. John followed his gaze to Sherlock, who was now swaying his hips to the beat, John sighed and regarded his bottle, "Neither; flatmate," he muttered.

The man nodded and slid into the vacant stool next to John and turned towards the bar so that he could better talk with him, "The look in your eyes says more, but then that could be caused by those moves he's doing out there," the man replied and let out a low whistle.

John snapped his head up to fully look at the man again. He had short brown hair, barely an inch long, styled smartly atop his scalp. His eyes were a deep green and framed by wire rimmed glasses. He was over average height and had a lean, muscular build. His jaw and cheeks were framed by a light dusting of dark stubble and he had faint lines around the corners of his lips. His smile was easy and pleasant, enticing whomever he was talking to to feel comfortable with him. John couldn't help the sheepish smile that pulled on his lips, "No, I'm just surprised he can move like that, I didn't think he even knew what dancing was, but then again he is a bloody genius," John muttered the last bit as he lifted his bottle and took a long pull from it.

The man chuckled and stirred the toothpick in his glass around the rim, "He looks like the type that can surprise you," he said with a slow nod, which seemed to bother John a bit, but he remained quiet. "My name is Jarrett Lynn," he said and held his hand out for John.

John grinned and shook the proffered hand, "Ah, hello Jarrett, nice to meet you, my name is John Watson," he supplied in turn. He and Sherlock hadn't discussed aliases, so he figured he could use his real name.

Jarrett nodded and slipped his hand from John's to wrap his fingers elegantly around the stem of his martini glass, "So, are you two here to vent and relieve stress, or is this a business visit?"

John narrowed his gaze at his bottle. He rubbed his thumbs along the cool, and wet neck before turning his stool towards Jarrett, "I'm not sure anymore. It started as business, but now I think it might be pleasure," he said and motioned his chin towards Sherlock who continued to dance, seemingly unaware of the bodies surrounding him.

Jarrett followed his gaze, and a lazily smiled pulled at his lips. He stared at Sherlock for a moment before turning back to John. He cocked his head and reached out confidently and set a hand on John's thigh, "Why does he get the freedom to have fun? Why don't you loosen up and have some fun too?" the man asked, his voice lowering an octave.

John's didn't flinch when the hand settled on his thigh, but he didn't entirely know what to do. He swallowed and looked down at it. The man's palm was literally burning him. He looked back up at Jarrett and offered him a shaky smile, "Ah, well I uh…I'm not into men," he said, his voice warbling a bit as he spoke.

Jarrett's teeth flashed in the neon lights. He leaned closer to John, who was now sitting ramrod straight. Jarrett leaned in close to John's ear, "Then why are you looking at him like that?" he asked. His voice was soft and the air from his lips caused John to shiver. Jarrett drew back to study John's face, his thumb now moving slowly along the inner seam of John's jeans.

John shifted in his seat. He wanted to draw his leg from Jarrett's grasp and leave, but instead he turned towards the bar and made a show of ordering another beer before giving Jarrett his attention again. "Everyone is staring at him, he moves like a fucking artist. He shouldn't be moving so gracefully with those limbs," John said strongly and pulled his new beer to his lips and took a long pull.

Jarrett chuckled as he lifted his own glass to sip from, "I think it's his limbs that are allowing him to move like that," he stated and turned his head to John.

John chuckled dryly and nodded, "He was probably created to go against every fucking societal norm."

Jarrett chuckled too, "It seems you two have an interesting relationship, but you seem like you have your own things you're good at too," he purred and moved his stool a bit to innocently bump knees with John.

John felt his cheeks heat up as he coughed into his hand, "Well, I suppose you could say that, I'm a former soldier and am a doctor," he answered with a humble shrug.

Jarrett regarded him with a cool smile, "Well, that's exciting too; it's a shame your fingers are wrapped around that bottle when they clearly seem to want to wrap around something else."

John cleared his throat and looked up to really tell Jarrett off, but found his stool suddenly occupied by Sherlock. John jumped, surprised at his flat mate's sudden appearance, "Jesus Sherlock, don't scare me like that," he scolded with a scowl and lifted his bottle to his lips.

Sherlock merely raised a brow, "I apologise," he muttered and waved down the bar tender and ordered water. His curls were damp with sweat and flattened against his forehead.

John just nodded before turning his body to fully face the dance floor now, saved from staring in complete awe at Sherlock.

"Who were you talking to?" Sherlock asked when John turned back to face the bar.

John gave him a sidelong glance, "No one," he answered shortly and shifted in his seat.

Sherlock reached out and shoved his hand into John's jean's pocket, "Oh, then what is this?" he asked and held up a small slip of white paper.

John frowned and snatched it from Sherlock, "How the bloody hell should I know?" he snapped and unfolded the paper only to see small numbers and letter there. Jarrett had, somehow, slipped his number into John's pocket. That was interesting. He frowned and shoved it into the pocket that was away from Sherlock, "That's also nothing; some bloke got the wrong idea, apparently."

Sherlock nodded and got to his feet, "Our guy is a no show so we can head back to the flat now, that is if you're ready to go?" he smirked at the murderous look John was shooting at him.

"Yes, yes, I'm ready to go, now," he said sharply and slapped some money down on the bar before stalking off without Sherlock, grumbling under his breath as he did so.

Sherlock watched him grab his coat. He grinned to himself. Apparently the night wasn't a total waste. He looked up and watched John slip through the front door. His gaze was just sweeping the club once more before a man in a grey suite caught his eye. The man grinned at him and nodded slightly before turning and getting swallowed by the crowd. Sherlock frowned, and shoved the man to the back of his mind as he got to his feet to follow after John.

* * *

Jarrett pushed the club's back door open and stepped out into the cool night. He inhaled deeply of the stale air as he pulled a pack of fags from his inner suite pocket. He lifted one to his lips and lit it. He moved to lean against the club wall. He felt the vibrations from within traveling along his spine. He lifted one leg and rested the bottom of his foot against the bricks. He drew in the smoke and felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and thumbed it on. He had a new text.

[Unknown number:] _Did you plant it?_

Jarrett frowned, his cigarette hanging from his bottom lip as he quickly thumbed a reply:

_He got it, will make my visit tomorrow. Plan is moving forward._

He waited only a few seconds before he got a reply:

[Unknown number:] _Good, very good. Report tomorrow. Ciao!_

Jarrett muttered under his breath and pocketed his phone before throwing his cigarette to the ground and grinding his shoe into it. He then kicked away from the wall and put his hands into the pockets of his trousers and walked out of the alley, whistling to himself as he went. Phase one was underway, he just had to wait until tomorrow to complete it. He grinned to himself as a sleek car pulled up to the curb and he slid into the back. He leaned back into the plush leather and crossed his legs. He lifted his wrist and checked the time, his favourite café was still open and he was desperately craving a latte. He gave his driver the order and sat back to ruminate on a certain army doctor that he had just met, and who he would be seeing very soon.

* * *

**A/N: **So? Review pretty please, and I will get the next chapter up as soon as possible! Thanks so much for reading!


	2. Special Ops

**Spoils of War**

**Chapter 2: **Special Ops

**Summary: **Another victim falls as two gangs continue to battle for turf. John also takes a night for himself which turns out to be better than he had expected it would be.

**A/N: **Thank you for the favorites and alerts! Now, if only all of you could leave a review as well, that would be great! Look at me being all speedy with an update! Also, I got me a beta! MeddlingAdler! She's awesome, but I didn't let her beta this chapter because I was impatient and wanted to post it as quickly as possible…which I hope works out in my favor! I must message her and apologize for my impatience! Anyways, just some quick notes. The gangs mentioned in this story are completely my creation. I do not think they really exist in London, but if they do, whoa! I did some research on London gangs and learned a few fun things for upcoming chapters. So, please go on and enjoy this chapter while I grovel at MedlingAdler's feet of depriving her of her awesome job offer and I will make it up to her by letting her do her awesome beta-ing for all my other chapters because I really need an awesome beta like her! Anyways, I shut up now; read and review!

* * *

"Cynthia Davis and Bobby Wright," Lestrade said as Sherlock ducked under the police tape. "The woman died from a gunshot to the heart and the boy suffered major blood loss from two shots to his abdomen and slashes on his wrists. We determined he was from the Bulldogs by the markings on his back and the slashes to his wrists are the signature of The Queen's Army," John cringed as Lestrade provided the gang name. The patriot and soldier in John abhorred the fact that these lowlifes would take the Queen's name in vain.

"Cynthia, it seems, was another victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm getting sick of these murders. If I knew how to catch these sons-of-bitches we wouldn't need to keep coming down here," Lestrade muttered angrily under his breath. He slapped the palm of his hand against the bricks next to him.

John shared his frustration, but it was rare to see Lestrade so impassioned. John figured it was due to the two kids who had been tragically killed a few weeks ago when TQA and the Bulldogs had squared off in a small park. A boy and his sister were struck with stray gunfire as they attempted to flee from the park. They were six and ten. That was the case before Sherlock had been called in to assist. Lestrade suspected that something, or someone, was fueling the recent gang activities, but he couldn't figure out what. He needed to know what was getting to these two groups, so that he could squish it and set life back to a sense of normalcy.

Donovan looked up from where she was collecting evidence next to some bins when Lestrade walked away from the scene. She frowned as Sherlock passed her, "This is the fifth innocent victim and sixth gang member killed in the past three months, freak, when are you going to actually help us?" she snapped. Her eyes followed him as he went to crouch over Bobby.

John cut her a glare, "Lestrade only asked for his help the other day, you guys haven't cracked the case in months, don't expect Sherlock to pick up your slack immediately."

Sally blinked at him, her mouth opened in a gape as her mind tried to process a response to his words.

"John, I need you over here," Sherlock called as he glanced over his shoulder. He raised his brows to emphasis his point and to keep John and Sally from having a battle royale.

John let the air out through his nostrils. He gave Sally a curt nod and turned to go to where Sherlock was examining the body of Bobby Wright. John bent down to rest on one knee. He cocked his head to study the wrist next to his ankle. The cut, of course, was deep enough to allow maximum blood loss, the signature mark of TQA. John sat back on his haunches and looked around the alley. They were in Bulldog territory, yesterday the victim was a young man killed from a gunshot wound in TQA territory. John had no idea why, suddenly, the gangs were fighting for territory when both had control of prime areas in central London. He sighed and looked over at Sherlock who was looking around the alley, a perplexed look on his own face. John raised a brow; that was rare.

Sherlock, in one fluid motion, got to his feet. He put his hands into his pocket. He started to walk towards the far end of the alley where it opened up into another alley that led to two different streets. He sighed and looked over when he felt John come to stand next to him.

"You have an idea why this is happening, don't you?"

Sherlock let some air out of his nose. He looked to the right where three bins used to be. He ran a thumb over the smooth screen of the mobile in his pocket before answering John, "I have a thought."

John raised a brow, "Oh, a thought? Do you mind sharing this _thought _with any of us? There are a lot of people being killed, Sherlock, and I know from the past that you don't care about that, but let's just pretend that you do, and you let us into that complicated mind of yours, yeah?"

Sherlock ignored John and strode out into the other alley. John watched him walk to the far right and exit onto a busy street. John sighed and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

"I'm assuming he didn't tell you what happened here?" Lestrade asked as he came to stand next to John.

John startled a bit at the sudden voice, but shook his head, "Two people were killed, that's what happened," John reminded him and nodded to the bodies that were now being bagged.

Lestrade snorted, "Well yeah, there's that, but six years ago something else happened here."

John raised a brow and began to follow Lestrade back towards the cruisers, "Is this going to be a guessing game, or will you tell me? I have to get back to the surgery as soon as possible," John pushed his sleeve back to look at his watch and then to Lestrade.

Lestrade raised a brow, but nodded. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. The officers under his direction milled about on radios and cell phones. Each and every one of them was tense and utterly pissed that they couldn't arrest anyone for these slayings. He sighed, but nodded to get back on track. He looked around to make sure Sherlock was still out of sight, but knowing his superhuman powers, he'd still know one way or another.

"Six years ago, in this alley, I found Sherlock passed out behind some bins down near where you were standing. Some woman called in a tip, said it was a body. I was the first on the scene. He wasn't more than skin and bones then. He had vomited at some point before I arrived. He was a mess. He was mumbling things under his breath and half dead already. I recognised an overdose when I saw it. I radioed an ambulance and had him taken care of. I came in to the hospital the next day for a statement and to book him when some other bloke met me at the door. He had gingery hair, and an umbrella hanging on his arm. He assured me everything was being dealt with and that my _services _were no longer needed. He had that voice, you know, where the tone just makes you obey. It was a few weeks after that that the gingery bloke called me for assistance in finding Sherlock again. I came to this alley, and sure enough, the damned fool was curled next to the bins again. This time around Mycroft and I worked together to help Sherlock out of his hole."

John blinked. He looked around the alley now with a renewed interest; no wonder Sherlock was colder than usual. He sighed, "Well shite, I'm a real arsehole then," he muttered and looked quickly at Greg.

Lestrade nodded subtly, "He hides it well, but being back here, where he'd experienced some really dark days, still affects him. He won't say and I'm damned sure he'd deny it, but under that scarf and coat, he is a human," Lestrade looked over at John, his gaze softened a bit, "I think you of all people know just how true that statement is. Good day doctor," he said and turned as one of his officers called him over to review a report he'd written.

John nodded and watched Lestrade as he walked away. He sighed once more before turning back to where he and Sherlock had first entered the alley. He groaned as he brought a hand up to scrub over his face. He muttered curses to himself under his breath before pulling out his phone. The screen showed that he had a new message. He frowned, he didn't remember it ever vibrating, but then again, he was pretty sucked into the tale Lestrade was telling him. He thumbed the screen on and opened the message.

_Investigating a lead. Will share when you're home tonight. – _**SH**

John frowned at the message. He had no doubts that he'd rubbed Sherlock the wrong way when he had his little outburst. He'd be apologising later for that one, which was a new role reversal. He sighed once more as he wrote a quick reply before stepping to the curb and hailing a cab. He got in and gave the driver directions to the surgery where he still had a few patients to see.

* * *

John was just saying goodbye to Mrs. Lewis when a familiar face caught his attention in the lobby. He cocked his head as the man lowered his magazine. Sarah looked up from her desk and shot John a smile. John frowned in response. The man stood and walked over to him with a smile on his lips.

"Ah, Dr. Watson," he greeted and held out his hand.

John looked at the hand a bit confused before taking it, "Ah, Mr. Lynn…" he trailed still confused as to why Jarrett was in the surgery. He turned and motioned to his open office door, "Uhm, if you'd like to follow me we can talk in my office." Jarrett followed close behind John as they walked into the office.

Jarrett took the seat opposite John's desk. He lifted his leg to cross them at the knee. He folded his hands on his knees and waited for John to take his seat.

"So, what are you doing here, how did you find me?"

Jarrett grinned, "It's not so hard to find someone if you have the right connections," he said cryptically as he reached into his trouser pockets. He pulled out a slip of paper and slid it across the desk, "you dropped a card on the bar last night when you paid for your beer," he reasoned with a slight shrug.

John pulled his card across the desk and studied it. He frowned before setting it down again, "Okay, well then how come you're here? I mean, are you sick, do you need something looked at?"

Jarrett chuckled and shook his head. He lifted a hand to run through his short hair. The office lighting flashed quickly on the lenses of his glasses obscuring his eyes for a moment, "I actually came to talk to you. I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night. Some signals got crossed and I made an arse of myself. I'm really not that straight forward. I really didn't mean to come on to you so hard and in such a smug manner," he looked away as he spoke, but John caught the slight, pink hue in his cheeks.

John himself felt a bit flustered. He'd written Jarrett off as a drunk arsehole and hadn't given the man a second thought until seeing him in the lobby again, he flashed him a quick smile, "Ah, no, don't worry Mr. Lynn. I completely understand. Alcohol and heightened emotions can do that to you when mixed with just the right lighting," he said with a chuckle. John's muscles relaxed more as his opinion of Jarrett began to change.

Jarrett chuckled, "Jarrett, please, and I'd like to rectify my abhorring behaviour. I'd like to take you for a pint or something, in a proper pub this time, where two blokes can _be_ just two blokes getting a pint and talking about football."

John reclined a bit in his chair. He placed his thumb and index finger to his chin as he thought about Jarrett's offer. A slow smile crept onto his face. After the day he'd had so far, pints sounded great. He slowly nodded, "Yeah, that sounds good, do you know The Lion's Den?" he asked and pulled out a pad of paper to write the address should Jarrett require it.

Jarrett grinned at John's acceptance of his offer, "Yes, it's a nice place not far from here. I'll meet you there at seven. I fear I must get back to work though, there's hardly any rest for the wicked," he said with a chuckle as he rose from his chair.

John rose as well, extending his hand to shake Jarrett's again, "Well alright, see you there then mate," he said as he showed the man to the door.

Jarrett nodded, "Right, see you tonight then Dr. Watson," he nodded his head once more before disappearing down the hall.

John followed behind him a few moments later. Sarah looked up from her desk with a grin.

"He's cute," she said slowly.

John gave her a look, "Well then maybe you should go after him, I'm not into blokes," he muttered and turned to go back to his office.

Sarah chuckled, "Right, I'll ask him for his number then the next time he comes 'round," she called after him and grinned to herself when she heard his door close.

She sighed and looked down at her paper, "Men," she muttered hopelessly under her breath with a slight head shake.

* * *

Later that night, John found himself actually enjoying being out with Jarrett. There was no awkwardness between them now; it was just two blokes enjoying each other's company over pints, and football on the telly over their heads.

"So then he just looked at me and walked away. _That _was the highlight of university, finally giving Nick White what he deserved." Jarrett had a large grin plastered to his face and his chest heaved as he relaxed from a bought of laughter after recovering from his tale of revenge from his university days.

John himself was just recovering from a bought of laughter himself. He leaned heavily on his elbows against the table. He was nursing his third pint, the pink hue in his cheeks already from the alcohol he'd consumed. He had to admit that Jarrett was good company when he wasn't trying to work his way into John's trousers. He lifted his tall glass to sip at the frothy liquid. "You know what he's doing today? I'm assuming he was able to retake the class in order to graduate, and of course this time he was watched very carefully to keep him from cheating?" John inquired with a raised brow. His tongue flicked out to clear the foam from his lips. He made it a point to ignore the way Jarrett's gaze seemed to follow the slick muscle before it retreated back into his mouth.

Jarrett chuckled and looked down at the glass of wine in front of him, "Actually, last I heard, he had passed away. He had a heart attack or something somewhere in the country when he took his family camping near the moors," he shrugged in a noncommittal manner and let his gaze wonder around the sparsely populated pub.

John frowned, "Ah, sorry mate, I had no idea," he felt bad now for dragging up the subject, but the easy smile on Jarrett's lips helped to ease his mood, soon he was smiling in response, the odd situation nothing more than a thought in the back of his mind.

Jarrett rolled his head easily to the side as he studied John a moment, something flashed in his eyes, "John, I really am sorry for last night, but I never thought you were the straight and narrow type…I mean that club is known for catering to the more…adventurous man."

John sputtered on his beer as he looked across to Jarrett, "What? You mean that was a…a gay club?" the last bit of his sentence had lowered into a harsh whisper, his eyes set hard on Jarrett to measure the next words the man would utter and know if Jarrett meant it as a joke.

Jarrett blinked, he was taken back; he didn't know that John didn't know. He sat back and pulled at the already loose tie around his neck, "Oh, I apologise, I didn't know you had no idea, but yeah, I suppose you could call it a gay club, of sorts. It's not that it's officially a gay club or anything, but that's pretty much the clientele that are served there," he shrugged as he brought his wine to his lips.

John nodded. It wasn't that he had an issue with the gay community, but he did have a problem with Sherlock pulling the wool over his eyes, as it were. He sighed; it had been a very long time since he'd been with a man, but he found himself remembering the mechanics of it more and more lately. He sighed again, damn Sherlock for what he did to John without even knowing, but then again it was partially John's fault for letting himself become attracted to the gangly detective in the first place. John looked up at Jarrett, and realised he'd been silent for a while, he smiled at the other man, "Ah, sorry about that silence, but I didn't realise that about the club, but I suppose it makes sense now that I think on it. It's not your fault though, I reacted a bit out of character to you and I should apologise for that as well, but we're starting on a new page tonight, so here's to that," John said with a grin. He raised his pint to Jarrett. The other man raised his glass to clink them together, and damn him for having such an easy smile that John couldn't help but smile back to.

* * *

Much later the two men stumbled out of a cab on Baker Street. Hands grasped at fabric as they fought to stay upright. Laughs and giggles poured from their slack mouths and John leaned heavily against the door jamb as he and Jarrett searched his pockets for the house key. John giggled as Jarrett's fingers tickled along his thigh to plunge into his pocket. Jarrett chuckled and pulled John's key ring from his pocket. The silver dangled from his extended index finger as he leaned into John's personal space, to which John didn't flinch or move back from.

"I'm sorry to return you home after curfew Cinderella," Jarrett said with a chuckle as his free hand came to rest on the door jamb next to John's head.

John chuckled, his smile nearly overtaking his whole face at Jarrett's muttered tease, "I'll leave my shoe behind for you to bring back again and slip onto my foot, oh wait, I already have your number," he chuckled and settled a hand on Jarrett's hip.

Jarrett grinned, "You're not such a straight arrow after all are you, John Watson?" Jarrett purred as he leaned his face closer to John's.

John grinned and shook his head, "No, not so straight indeed," he sighed as his slurred blue eyes fell to Jarrett's lips.

A shiver raced down Jarrett's spine as he watched John's tongue poke out and trace along his lips, "You must stop doing that John Watson, every time I see that pink muscle of yours, all I can think about is kissing you and sucking it into my mouth," his voice had dropped an octave, his hips leaned forward to fit against John's, and he placed a thigh between John's legs.

John grinned as he looked up at Jarrett, his grip on Jarrett's hip tightened, "How come you haven't done anything about it yet?" he breathed.

Jarrett smirked at the challenge. He leaned forward, "Here's to the night then, doctor," he growled and fit his lips to John's. John's hands immediately snaked around his waist to pull him closer. Jarrett's lips were plush and pliable as John nipped them with his teeth. Both men groaned into the others mouth as tongues snaked out to explore.

* * *

Sherlock growled under his breath as he snapped the curtains back into place. He would never admit that the scene taking place below on the sidewalk upset him in any way, because why should it? He huffed as he stalked to the couch. He crossed his arms over his chest as he let himself fall to the couch. He was upset. He was beyond upset. He was livid. John was _his._ He growled, how dare John snog a murdered on their doorstep!

* * *

**A/N: **Well there it is folks, chapter two! I know there is hate at the end of this chapter, and things will get more complicated as the story goes on, but Johnlock will always prevail! Please leave me a review and let me know what you all think! Thanks for reading guys!


	3. Strategy

**Spoils of War**

**Chapter 3: **Strategy

**Summary: **Sherlock starts to act uncharacteristically and John peruses his new friendship with Jarrett, much to Sherlock's dismay, and is still in the dark on Sherlock's secret regarding Jarrett. There is also a bit of insight to what is causing the recent gang activity.

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long to update, but my beta and I have been super busy with exams! I'm done, but she still has a handful to go, and she's going to do awesome. Thanks to MedlingAdler this chapter is the best that it can be! Please read and review!

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Of course Sherlock hadn't told John his suspicions about Jarrett, but the little bit of snogging on the doorstep had Sherlock rethinking his current strategy. He had ignored John when he finally stumbled up the stairs the previous night, and just plucked at his violin strings with his fingers. John recognised the signs of Sherlock being deep in thought so he stumbled straight up to bed. Sherlock had glared after him because, on top of trying to solve the mystery of the dueling gangs, he now had different thoughts trying to break through his barrier, and John was at the centre of them. Sherlock sat up until early morning, only shuffling into his room for an hour of rest so that he could tackle the next day with a sharper mind and a clear headed John.

John felt the pounding first, then the desert in his throat, and then finally the nausea from a night well had. He groaned as he shifted in his bed to read the bedside clock. It was nearly 7AM and he had a shift in two hours at the surgery, Sarah would not be pleased to see him hungover. He blinked his eyes rapidly in hopes to make the lids actually open, and stay open, but it was useless-he'd had far too much to drink last night. He grunted again as he started to move and stretch his achy joints, needing to do so before he even attempted to sit up.

Finally John managed to sit up—even if he was a bit slumped over. He looked at his bedside table again hoping to see that drunken John would have taken care enough to set a glass of water and painkillers out, but no such luck. He'd have to have a proper chat with drunken John about helping sober/hungover John in the morning. He pivoted his body so that his feet hit the cool, hardwood floor. He used his hands to push his body into a standing position before he shuffled, half dead, out of his room, and downstairs to the bathroom.

As he passed down the hall he could hear Sherlock shuffling about, no doubt collecting and thinking through different data as it pertained to the current case. He wondered what the lanky man could have found out by now, but from experience he knew it was unwise to start asking Sherlock case related questions until after his morning cuppa. John took care of his morning needs in the bathroom in a slow and languid fashion, but as soon as his toothbrush hit his mouth a memory cracked through his skull. He groaned as he screwed his eyes shut,

"Oh shit," he spluttered around his toothbrush. He had kissed Jarrett, he had full out snogged the man on the doorstep-and he liked it, if memory served correctly, John had liked it a little too much. "Bugger that," he groaned again. He refused to meet his own gaze in the mirror. Sober John and drunken John definitely had to have a good long chat about do's and don'ts. Actually, John was not looking forward to the chat so he ignored the mumbling in his mind and opted to focus on his morning routine.

John emerged from the bathroom a half hour later feeling a bit more human. He had luxuriated in a hot shower, the aches and stiffness leaving his muscles in waves as he supported himself against the shower wall. God, he loved hot water and the miracles it could work on his body. He'd almost reasoned with himself to stay under the spray all day and ignore everything, but the rational sides of his brain made him get out. He had wrapped his robe around his body to move from the bathroom to the kitchen. He passed by the living room and caught sight of Sherlock sat on the couch poring over papers strewn about the coffee table. John ignored the mess; it was something he didn't want to look at until later, when his brain came back to him.

"John, bring me some tea, please" Sherlock called once he heard John's movements towards the kitchen.

John mumbled in reply, his hand flapping disjointedly in the air as if to wave off Sherlock's request. He didn't notice the 'please' that was attached to the end of the sentence, but if he had, it would have made him stop in his tracks. Sherlock never bothered with manners, they took too much time to add and remember; it was easier to just be rid of them. John put the kettle on the burner and picked up the paper. He snapped it open as he plopped into a chair at the table. His eyes skimmed the headlines, making note of the small blurbs pertaining to the case they were working on, they had kept the news on it limited and small so that the general public wouldn't become too alarmed. He lazily flipped through a few pages before rising once more to make himself some eggs and toast with his morning cuppa. He stood at the counter watching the toaster as a large yawn overtook his mouth. He lifted a hand to stifle it as the bread popped and the kettle whistled. He muttered to himself as he tended to each object. He set his things off to the side before grabbing Sherlock's tea cup and bringing it to him.

Sherlock didn't look up when he felt John's warm presence next to him. He sniffed and held out his hand, "Have a good night then?" he really didn't care to ask-or know for that matter-but he was always striving to be a good flatmate, lest he scare John off, and normal friends usually asked such questions.

John sighed, "It was okay I guess. I met up with that Jarrett fellow for some pints, had a bit too much, but I'm dealing with that. He's a good bloke, can be nice and normal when he wants to…" John trailed as he realised he was talking a bit too much about the bloke, "Right, yes, it was a good night," he nodded before moving to sit in his chair. He nodded at Sherlock, though the man couldn't see him, "How about you? Figure anything out?"

Sherlock snorted in indignation at the suggestion that his work would be for naught, "Of course I have John, you injure me," he stated as he pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of the pile, disrupting the rest of them.

John glared at the new mess, "Right, well I can't wait for you to solve this so that our flat can get back to resembling something akin to normal."

Sherlock didn't respond. He pushed himself to his feet and sipped from his cuppa, "Perfect, as always," he stated before setting it down and stepping over the low table.

John turned his head to watch him, "Thank you, I'll store that compliment away in my sorely filled storage space of Sherlock compliments."

Sherlock frowned as he turned to look at John. He raised a brow, as if asking what nonsense had just come from John's lips.

John looked up, he hadn't realised what he said until the look from Sherlock. He looked away sheepishly and brought his hand up to his mouth, "Never mind all that, go do whatever you're doing, I'll be at the surgery today, ring me if you need me," he reminded the lanky man as he got to his own feet. He nodded once more at Sherlock before going back into the kitchen to make his eggs and eat them before getting dressed.

Sherlock stared curiously after the little doctor as he grabbed his coat. He shrugged into it, the paper still clutched in his hand, "I'll text you should I need you," he said and swept out of the flat.

John just stared at the door, "Right, I'll be at work then," he nodded to himself as if reaffirming something. Through all of this he had managed to keep all thoughts of Jarrett and what he could do with his lips and tongue out of his mind, but now without Sherlock to distract him, the thoughts were returning. John frowned and binned his remaining eggs before placing his dirtied dishes in the sink to wash up later.

Hours later John was fighting to keep his eyelids open as he sat at his desk. He had two cancellations on a five patient day. None of the doctors had patients he could take over and no one came in demanding to see a doctor. John took his phone from his pocket once more to see if Sherlock had messaged him, but no such luck. He frowned as he placed it on his desk, almost like that action alone would prompt the man to message him asking for his assistance, but the trick didn't work. John contemplated going home early, but there was a niggling in the back of his mind telling him if he did that, that's when they'd need him. He sighed once more lacing his hands against the back of his head. He stared out at the middle-distance contemplating different things, refusing to visit the end of last night. He was ashamed that he'd let that happen, but it wasn't for the reasons he ought to be ashamed for, for some reason it felt like he'd betrayed Sherlock somehow, which wasn't right because they were only friends and flatmates.

John snorted at the thought. He was convinced that Sherlock couldn't feel love, or recognise it if it hit him the face, which was a strange mental image in his head. He shook himself to be rid of his current train of thought, but lately, for some reason, he'd been thinking about Sherlock more and more and it unsettled John. He had experience with blokes, but that was a long time ago, and since then he hadn't been attracted to any males until the anomaly known as Sherlock Holmes waltzed into his life. He frowned at the thought and mentally cursed Sherlock, but then the beeping of his mobile caused him to jerk, almost falling backwards in surprise. He slammed his feet down onto the floor and pulled himself to his desk. He grabbed his phone to see that someone had texted him. He grinned hoping it was Sherlock asking for his assistance.

"About bloody time," he muttered as he thumbed his phone on to check, but the message wasn't from Sherlock. "Oh bloody hell," he groaned as Jarrett's name illuminated on the small screen.

_Afternoon doctor, I just wanted to say thank you for the second chance and good night. I'd love to do it again sometime soon. Have a good day. _**–Jarrett**

John really wished Jarrett would let the whole thing drop. He was prepared to forget the whole encounter and never think of it again, but the man had sent him a message. He stared at it for a good while wondering what he should do, if anything. Jarrett was actually a nice bloke, he proved to be a good time, and he knew his football. John found that particularly refreshing since Sherlock couldn't be bothered with the sport. John then wondered if Jarrett even remembered anything from the end of the night, he wasn't going to bring it up, but the man had had more to drink than he had and he'd been much more affected by the amount than John was. He reasoned that a reply wouldn't hurt. John could always use friend of a different nature to Sherlock, he sometimes needed people to escape to like Sherlock needed his mind palace to escape to. John quickly thumbed out a reply.

_It was a good night. I did have fun, and the football wasn't bad either. I wouldn't mind meeting for a pint or two again. Talk to you later then. _**–JW**

After he'd set the phone down he looked around his office. He had one more patient that wasn't due for another hour yet, and there was file work he could go through, so he set out to do just that.

* * *

Meanwhile, across town Sherlock had a meeting of his own. He would never tell John, but it was always necessary to meet with your enemy in the midst of a war, and Sherlock had been summoned to do just that. He entered the warehouse slowly, making his way towards the small table with a white table cloth. He frowned at the setting. The man sat in an opposite chair looked positively at home, though he'd look completely at home in any setting. Sherlock lowered himself to opposite seat patently ignoring his tea.

"How nice of you to meet me, I gather you've put the pieces together, but just don't know where they lead just yet," a perfectly manicured brow raised to the top of a pale forehead where a brown fringe tried to hide it for a moment.

Sherlock snorted, "It didn't take long for me to recognise the places where the bodies were dumped. Were they some sort of present for me then?"

The mad man opposite Sherlock giggled as he snapped a biscuit between his pearly teeth, "Oh, everything is just so delicious about you isn't it? I suppose I do my part to stroke your ego, but that little pet of yours does a much better job."

Sherlock glared icicles at the man opposite him and clenched one of his hands into a fist, which was fortunately hidden in his pocket, "We both know that none of this if for _my _ego, but for your own sick sort of enjoyment. What exactly did you offer the gangs to make them dance so well?"

The man clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly before his Irish tinted voice emerged from his lips, "Oh Sherlock my dear, what's the fun in making my puppets dance for you if you can't figure out the reason to their steps?"

Sherlock sighed in boredom as he looked around the warehouse. He and the other man were the only occupants, save for a blonde military man standing just behind the man clad in gray Westwood, "You've offered them both something, something big-and you challenged them. Whoever wins whatever sick game you've cooked up wins whatever you've made. Its drug related given these gangs are both known for their ruthless dealings. You've picked all the areas for a reason, which we already know is me, but why…" Sherlock trailed as he contemplated his train of thought.

The other man chuckled, "Oh Sherlock, you are sorely mistaking in thinking this is completely about you. It's not as if I'm pining after you like some lovesick primary school girl, oh no, this is for me too. I am always, first and foremost a business man and I am _always _looking for ways to expand."

Sherlock glared as he scooted back on his chair, "You won't win Moriarty. I'm not sure how that brain of yours can even conceive of the idea, but you know you won't win this. You can't get beyond me and I will end you," Sherlock's words were issued as a cold threat.

Moriarty giggled as he shook his head and set his tea cup on its saucer, "You are so cute when you think you've won, but remember that all is fair in love and war Sherlock, I'll be seeing you," he called out, his voice sounding high and sing-songy as it reverberated through the metal and concrete skeleton of the warehouse.

Sherlock didn't even bother to commit the location to memory, Moriarty would never be back. He shoved his hands into his pockets; Moriarty had all but confirmed that he was using some sort of exclusivity to a drug to make the gangs war with one another, but Sherlock had no idea what drug it could be, or where it was being made. He needed to figure this out, as well as the other part of Moriarty's plan. He knew there were more than just two gangs fighting for the right to manufacture and distribute a new drug, but he knew the second leg in this plan dealt with him, him and John.


	4. Behind Enemy Lines

**Spoils of War**

**Chapter 4: **Behind Enemy Lines

**Summary: **John ends up at Jarrett's flat one night after pints while Mycroft visits Sherlock.

**A/N: **You guys I am so sorry this took so, so long to post. I have had a lot to do in the past few weeks and my muse seemed to have taken a really long vacation, but I am starting work on the next chapters so that you don't have to wait forever again. I also would like to give you all warm chocolate chip cookies and milk to appease you all. Again, all thanks and praise to my amazing, amazing beta **meddlingadler **without her these chapters would suck a lot!

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Jarrett wasn't sure what attracted him first, the drugs or the money, but he knew that it was a lifestyle made for him and he enjoyed every minute of it. He looked across his desk to the man shaking in the plush chair. Jarrett cocked his head just slightly to the left, and the thug currently holding the man's right index finger snapped it back. The jittery man let out a horrifying howl as his bone snapped, his finger now dangling uselessly from his hand.

"That, Mr. Gray, was to show you just how serious I am. Either you get me the things I need, or you are of no use to me anymore. I run a business, and if you can't prove useful, then there's no use for you; simple." Jarrett ran a well manicured hand through his short brown hair, his eyes shimmering in pure delight.

"Please Mr. Lynn, I just need one more day, one more day, and I can get you everything you need," the man whimpered, cradling his hand against his chest.

Jarrett leaned back in his chair as he steeped his fingers under his chin. He considered the supposed ruthless gang leader in front of him, "You have one more day Mr. Gray, and if you disappoint me this time around, your finger isn't going to be the only bone that gets snapped," his tone was nothing but ice as he swiveled his back to the man. Jarrett waved a hand from behind his chair, "Show him to the door, I have work to do."

Once the door to his office clicked closed and silence settled around him, he picked up his phone and typed out three different messages. His grin was anything but sweet as he dropped the phone into his trouser pocket. He stood from his chair so that he could look down onto the street from his window. The man he had just spoken to darted out of the building, his hand still cradled to his chest, but Jarrett didn't ruminate much on that because he had a date with a doctor to get ready for.

* * *

John was busy sorting through his files and lists of inventory that Sarah had left him to look over. She'd noticed that, in the last few weeks, different medicines they had in stock as samples were going missing. John and the other doctors had reassured her that they always wrote what they took out, but they'd be happy to help her double check the lists and supplies, which John was currently doing by cross checking his patient files with the different medicine samples he'd given them. He was almost finished when Anthony, a new intern, stumbled through his door.

John snapped his head up when he heard the door slam against his wall. The young man was gasping and holding his hand to his chest. John cocked his head as he slowly stood up, "Anthony, what happened?" John moved around his desk and helped the younger man to sit in the chair.

Anthony had sweat dripping down the side of his head. He drew in lungful after lungful of air as he tried to formulate an answer, "I…the tube…doors…" he gasped again. He looked up as John passed him a paper cup of water from the cooler. Anthony's hand was shaking horribly, most of the water splashed out of the cup and onto his shirt.

John frowned in concentration. He reached forward to try and examine Anthony's hand. The man shrank away from, but then seemed to remember himself and let his hand be taken from his chest. John held the palm gently, Anthony's right index finger dangled down and swung freely in the air, "Christ mate, that's a nasty break. I'm not sure I can treat that here, you'll have to go to St. Bart's to get it fixed, there's more than just bone damage, they'll have to fix the joint too," John carefully allowed Anthony to take his hand back.

"N-no hospital, g-give me a s-stint," he sputtered, then drew in a deep breath letting it out slowly to settle himself.

"I can't do that Anthony, you need to have a surgeon look at that and decide what to do with it. I can take an x-ray to send along with you, but we don't have to tools here to fix a break as severe as that. I'll ring Sarah and have her set up an x-ray for you," John walked around the back of his desk; he was reaching for his phone when Anthony suddenly shot to his feet.

"I said I want a stint, so wrap it up already and I'll be fine," he snapped, and John was so surprised that he stopped with the phone halfway to his ear.

John blinked at Anthony, his hand slowly lowering the phone back to its cradle, "Anthony I can't even begin to tell you why that is a bloody stupid idea," his ire was beginning to rise as his doctor side started to throw out red flags with Anthony's behaviour.

"I'm sorry Dr. Watson, but I just…I don't like hospitals, I just…give it a wrap for now and I promise to go to Bart's after I've calmed down a bit," he blinked slowly at the doctor as he watched him considering his words.

John sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat, "Alright fine, but only if you sincerely promise to go to Bart's. I've got friends there I can ring to see if you've held up your end of the deal," his voice trailed as he moved about his office gathering the supplies he'd need.

Anthony let out a soft sigh, glad for the time being that he won one small battle for the day. He followed John out of his office and down to an empty exam room where his finger was stinted and wrapped up tight. As John finished with the finger his mobile started to ring, so he excused himself to check the message in case it was Sherlock requiring his assistance. Anthony was left alone in the room. He immediately jumped off the exam table to tear through the cupboards. He was frantic. He needed to grab the rest of the things Jarrett demanded, but this time around he was crazy with fear and his hands didn't fully cooperate with what he needed them to do. Bottles, instruments, and other miscellaneous things toppled to the floor as he pulled drawers, cabinets, and various other containers open looking for the sample drugs he knew were kept in the room. He didn't know when John would come back in, nor did he care. Once he had what he needed he'd be gone. He had stayed in the clinic too long already, he needed to get moving, but first he needed the narcotics. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, he could hear John shuffling about behind the door, but then suddenly he pulled open the cabinet on the wall in the corner. On the shelves were sleeves of newly made painkillers. Anthony grabbed handfuls of them and shoved them into his trouser pockets. He moved quickly, and after his pockets were stretched to the limit, he shoved the exam door open, muttered to John, and hurried away.

John was surprised to see the message was from Jarrett, but responded anyway. It seemed that they would be meeting at seven for pints in a nearby pub, to which John wasn't opposed. It had been three days since the kiss he shared with Jarrett, an experience he'd come to regret not remembering a lot of, but also finding himself nervously thinking of repeating. He needed a way to vent his frustrations with Sherlock, and Jarrett provided a willing and acceptable solution. What he had not been prepared to find when he turned back to the exam room was the intern hurrying away with barely a word. John turned to watch him go, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment. He shook his head and went back into the exam room, and upon entering his eyebrows shot to his forehead.

"Oh bloody hell," he muttered in quiet astonishment which quickly simmered away to anger. He turned on his heel to find Sarah and share what he just found.

* * *

Hours later found John sat in a secluded table waiting on Jarrett, three pints already consumed to combat the day he'd had. He shook his wrist out of his shirt sleeve for the fifth time to check the time, quarter past seven and no sign of Jarrett. He sighed once more waving the barmaid over for another pint. He reasoned that if he finished pint number four and still no Jarrett he'd just go home and get some rest, which is actually what he should have done when he got off work just over an hour ago.

The whole situation with Anthony earlier had the small surgery struggling to take corrective action. The NSY had gotten involved and Sarah was very close to taking off the lead inspector's head a few times. She was furious, and with good reason, but the NSY had no record of an Anthony Jones, much to their chagrin. The NSY didn't seem to take the report or missing medications too seriously, and that had ignited a slow burning anger in all of the doctors in the surgery who were trying to stress the different warnings and uses of the medications that had gone missing. John was a bit surprised at the reception their report got given the recent gang activities, but he hoped that police would follow through with their promises, but until then Sarah, John, and the rest of the doctors were left to pick up the pieces.

Another weary sigh escaped John as he sank even lower in his seat. He looked at his pint, arguing with himself over just leaving it and going home, or downing it then going home, either way he was starting to feel the pull to go home becoming tighter and tighter. He tipped the glass back to watch the play of the dim lights through the amber liquid, and he had become lost in the play.

"John, I am so sorry I'm late," a voice suddenly startled John and his pint nearly tipped back, but Jarrett caught it.

John looked up at the man and grinned warily, "Ah, evening Jarrett, I was just toying with the idea of calling it an early night, it's been a…well it's been a day," he chuckled dryly indicating the empty chair opposite him.

Jarrett cocked his head, "We can head back to my place for a movie and some pizza to combat your day?" he suggested with a small smile.

John nodded in agreement because the offer sounded blood fantastic, "That really sounds good mate, let me finish this up quick and we can head out."

Jarrett nodded with a wry smile, "No hurry John, we'll go once you finish and you can vent if you feel the need to," he slid easily into the chair opposite John and settled in to wait for the man.

* * *

While John was attending to a visitor of his own, Sherlock was displeased to see what had showed up on his doorstep in the good doctor's place.

"Evening Mycroft does England need saving again?" he asked tiredly stepping aside to let his brother into the flat.

Mycroft blatantly ignored Sherlock's ire, "You need to stop investigating these gang murders Sherlock," once in the flat he turned to face the lanky man. His hands were folded gently on the top of his umbrella as he eyed his younger sibling.

Sherlock frowned letting the door snap shut behind him, "Just because we're dealing with two gangs known for their ruthless drug dealing hardly means I'll fall back on old habits," Sherlock scowled as he passed his older brother to plop down into his favoured chair. He continued to pout hoping it would persuade Mycroft to leave.

Instead the elder Holmes pinched his lips together turning to face Sherlock, "I'm hardly concerned about your old habits," he spat the last two words out as if they left an awful taste in his mouth.

Sherlock drew his knees to his chest, "How was tea with Gerald?" he tried to change the subject picking lint from the top of his pyjama clad knee.

"Don't Sherlock, this is important. You need to cease all investigation into these murders, and stop visiting Moriarty. You haven't a clue what you're up against Sherlock, you or the good doctor," he was pleased to see the piqued interest upon mention of John Watson.

Sherlock tipped his head, his eyes raking over Mycroft in a critical manner, "And you do?"

Mycroft sighed, his long legs carrying him to John's chair where he gently lowered himself, "As your brother, Sherlock, I am asking you to quit. I have some of my best men working on these cases; find something else to vex you."

Sherlock's hackles began to rise, "You're afraid something will happen to me because you've figured out his patterns and the…presents he's leaving behind. You think I'm going to end up a target for his puppets to take out…" Sherlock trailed there as he averted his eyes from Mycroft's face.

Mycroft was still, his mouth set in a firm line and his eyes silently pleading with Sherlock to just listen to him for once, "He's using your old mistress to call you out Sherlock, surely that's enough to cause me concern. He knows how difficult it is for you to resist the siren song, that's why he's bringing you to your old haunts."

Sherlock fought very hard not to roll his eyes in exasperation, "I know that Mycroft, but there's more to this game, he's drawing me out, playing with me because he wants something. He wants something so that he can control me, but he hasn't quite figured out what that is yet, and in the process of his latest cat and mouse he's always ever the diligent business man, so he's creating a new drug. These two gangs believe this new drug will gain them all sorts of fortune and-and street cred," Sherlock waved his hands in the air at the slang term, his face twisting in disgust at the slaughter of the English language he uttered, "but in reality these two gangs are just pawns in an even bigger game."

Mycroft frowned, "There are innocent people being killed just so Moriarty can flirt with you, I trust you've thought of that…but no, Sherlock Holmes can't be bothered by the lives of the normal people when someone is dangling new and exciting cases in front of his nose. I won't ask again Sherlock, stop investigating and let me handle it." Mycroft's tone was cold.

Sherlock frowned. He let his feet slip forward to plant on the floor. He leaned himself forward, his elbows on his knees as he regarded his brother, "No Mycroft, he chose me and so he'll have to face the consequences."

Across the city in a well lit, sparsely decorated flat John Watson was fumbling with the buttons to Jarrett's shirt, his lips swollen and puffy from heated kisses, marks already blooming across his shoulders and collarbones, and his trousers painfully snug at his groin. In his haste to relieve all sorts of tension, John failed to note the odd collection of medical journals and chemistry equipment scattered in the living area, something that would send out signal flares, and instead he latched his lips onto the skin being bared as he tore Jarrett's shirt from his chest.

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**A/N: **As always please leave me a review to let me know what you think, and I promise very soon Sherlock and John will be having a serious chat about...things and the M rating will really be worth it!


	5. Battle Stations

**Spoils of War**

**Chapter 5: **Battle Stations

**Summary: **Sherlock and John finally have…'the talk.'

.**A/N: **Here we are boys and girls, some Johnlock to get the ball rolling! Please review! I would very much like reviews! I also want to thank everyone who favorite and alerted, it means a lot, but now I challenge you to review! Enjoy your read! Again, the awesomeness of this chapter is thanks to MeddlingAdler!

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John woke up in an unfamiliar room; sunlight was streaming through the beige curtains, littering the floor with glowing shadows. It took a couple of seconds for awareness to fully return to the good doctor, but when it did, he wasn't sure if he should smile or bury his head back under the extremely comfortable pillow. John did neither; he groaned softly as he shifted to rise.

His movement, however, froze immediately when the slender arm of a man reached over and tightened around his waist, "Running away already doctor?" the hoarse voice muttered from beside him.

John smirked as he moved out of Jarrett's grasp, "Actually yeah, I have to get to the surgery. We had a bit of a bad day yesterday, and I think Sarah could really use all of our support right now," he muttered sliding his feet out from the sheets, planting them on the plush carpet.

Jarrett groaned before pushing himself to sit up as well. John looked over his shoulder at the handsome man, smiling gently upon seeing his auburn hair flattened to some parts of his head, while other tufts stuck out every which way. It was actually, despite the sinking feeling John had in his stomach, an adorable sight.

"Besides, you've got your own job to get to, can't have a lie in today," John uttered as he bent forward to grab his discarded pants. He quickly pulled them up his legs before venturing out of bed to find the rest of his scattered things.

Jarrett smiled fondly as he watched John's compact body move around his room. The shafts of sunlight added a soft glow to the tanned bits of skin it would fall upon when John would move into them. "I wouldn't mind a lie in if I got to look at you all day," Jarrett teased.

John felt the heat rise to his cheeks, so he turned away and grabbed his shirt. He punched his hands through the sleeves to take his mind off of the comment, "What do you do anyways? I mean, you know I'm a doctor, but I have no clue what you do."

Jarrett grinned, he wondered when the doctor would inquire about his profession. "That's not all you do though John, you also help a certain detective," he was quiet for a moment watching John hastily button up his shirt, he sighed as he threw an arm over his eyes.

"I'm an investment banker by day," he finally admitted with a small smile, his arm shifting very slightly to reveal his colourful pupils.

John nodded absently, "Sounds exciting, but it explains why you've got such a gorgeous flat." He hopped about on one foot as he tugged a sock on, then repeated the process with the other.

Jarrett finally made himself get out of bed. He found a clean pair of pants from his dresser to pull on as a yawn escaped his lips, "You don't have to worry about hurrying away John; I can give you a lift to work. It wouldn't be a problem, really, it's not out of my way," Jarrett's voice gradually grew softer as he drew closer to John.

John had turned to look at Jarrett as he spoke, but then ended up taking small steps back as the man advanced on him. He didn't necessarily regret their night, but at the same time it meant nothing more to him than a quick shag. He swallowed thickly as he met Jarrett's eyes. He forced a warm smile as he shook his head slowly, "No, really, that's alright Jarrett, I can get a cab. I really need to get going."

Jarrett frowned, his hands going to grip John's hips, "I insist doctor. It's the least I could do after dragging you back to my place for the night," he grinned as he leaned in to steal a quick kiss.

John blinked when the other man brushed their lips together, "O-okay," he whispered, his eyes crossing to look down at Jarrett's hands on his hips. The man's thumbs were rubbing gently against the waistband of his trousers, suggesting other things in mind than getting to work on time.

"You're shy in the morning, that's cute," Jarrett chuckled as he let go of John. He moved over to his closet, thumbing through different shirts and slacks before settling on a light blue button up and khaki trousers.

John sighed, he turned his back on Jarrett to finish getting dressed. The fact that he'd be showing up to work in the same clothes that he wore yesterday was not lost on him, and neither would be the looks and mutters when the others would see him. That's all he needed to add to his already plummeting mood, animosity on the work place. He hoped that all the commotion stirred up yesterday by their intern would distract them all from him and his nighttime activities, but he'd found rather quickly that the small surgery doctors liked little else more then to chat around the water cooler.

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An hour later found John waving as Jarrett sped off in his rather remarkable, silver Mercedes S-class W221. John hadn't wanted to get out of the car. He wanted to take it out on the M4 to let the throttle loose. He loved the quiet purr of the engine; it reminded him of a large cat, crouched down in wait for its prey before launching itself up with its powerful legs, taking off after its prey like a shot out of hell.

"Looks like someone had a good night."

John snapped around to see Doctor Hartford going into the small surgery, a blush touched his cheeks. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, "Ah, yeah, that was Jarrett. Went out with some mates after work last night, had a bit too much to drink, crashed on his couch," John smiled as he joined the other doctor to enter into the surgery.

John and Hartford clomped into the still quiet surgery. They hung their jackets on the hook near the door before going off in separate directions. John was walking past Sarah's desk when she looked up. John nearly stumbled as he took in her appearance. She had dark circles under her eyes, still wore the same outfit as the day before, but with more creases and wrinkles, and her once neat ponytail was lopsided and drooping sadly over her shoulder.

He went up to the desk, folding his arms over the top to lean into it, "Sarah, did you sleep last night?"

Sarah looked up from her piles of paper. Defeat was evident in her eyes, her hair hanging in strings around her face, "How could I? The NHS is breathing down my neck now because of the narcotics that were stolen. They haven't even been approved yet, and some kid has them, probably selling them on the streets now, and it's all my fault." She looked close to tears as she deflated back into her chair, lifting a hand to swipe at her eyes.

John quickly moved around the desk to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. His thumbs moved in soothing circles as he crouched down to be at eye level with her, "Hey, hey, it's not entirely your fault. I should have never left him in the exam room alone, but I thought Sherlock needed me and Anthony…I thought I could trust him."

Sarah's eyes narrowed when John mentioned Sherlock. The lanky detective had been a sore spot for her, one she tried to admirably overcome because she could see what was so obvious to anyone between the two of them, so she swallowed her snippy retort, "I expect your job here to come before Sherlock, John…but it's not your fault either. We should have noticed this before now…lord knows how many samples he's taken in the three weeks he's been here," Sarah fell forward, her head falling into her hands.

John moved his hand down to rub small comforting circles along her lower back hoping to offer her some sort of comfort, "We'll get through this together, yeah? We're a team here Sarah, we all have each other's backs. We'll deal with whatever the NHS throws our way. We might be a small surgery, but we're strong," he grinned, hoping she'd at least crack a small smile.

Sarah looked up, her lips twitched almost like she might smile, but then it fell, "You always know just what to say John," her voice was warm, but she still looked weary.

John pulled himself up, "And I always mean what I say love, we'll get through this in one piece, we'll be alright, you'll see," he nodded, reassuring himself of his words.

Sarah chuckled shaking her head, "Get to work Doctor Watson, you still have a full patient list," she grinned then, it looked forced, but at least she tried.

John chuckled, "I'll be in my office until lunch, then I think the corner shop is calling our names," he raised a brow, waiting for her to accept his invitation to lunch.

Sarah grinned, for real this time, "Alright, since you asked so nicely," she rolled her eyes at him before focusing back on her paperwork.

John felt a bit better after talking to Sarah, and soon forgot the heavy feeling in his gut as he got lost in a myriad of patients all day long.

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The end of the day came rather slowly for John's liking. He really couldn't think of anything better then settling into the sofa and watching crap telly while Sherlock did as Sherlocks' do. A small smile pulled at his lips as he gathered all his things. Even one night away had him missing his eccentric flatmate. It was an odd thought to have, because John had never missed Sherlock before when he'd spend nights away from the flat. He couldn't pin-point exactly why he was missing Sherlock, but it was there, that feeling in the middle of his chest, a slight tightening when he thought about his curly headed detective.

John pulled his jacket on, switched off his desk light, grabbed some files and paper work, and left the office. He opted to walk home in order to give himself some time to straighten out his whirling thoughts. He really had no clear line of thought that he could follow for very long before another line of thought interrupted. He had about a million things all going on at once, while all he really, _really_ wanted was to crawl into bed, pull the duvet over his head, and wake up when all the messes in his life had sorted themselves out. That sounded like the best idea so far to him. He rounded the corner a block away. Seeing the black door and gold knocker only a few more feet ahead, he dug his keys out of his pocket. A large yawn overtook his mouth as he stuck the key into the lock, but the door swung open before he could turn the key.

"John dear, so good to see you," Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, opening her arms to him. She looked to be going out for the night, a light purple spring jacket, over a pale blue dress.

"Evening Mrs. Hudson. Are you off to see your sister?" he asked her, stepping into her hug before moving inside.

"Meeting some of the girls for dinner and cards. Don't wait up for me," she giggled. John was glad to see their landlady smiling like she was twenty years old again, it made him smile in return.

"I'll try not to wait up too late. Have a good time, give Mrs. Turner my love," he called after her before the door snapped shut. He shook his head before pulling himself up the stairs to the flat he shared with Sherlock.

When the door opened, Sherlock looked up from his microscope at the table. He frowned, his eyes raked over John telling him all he needed to know before he adjusted the knob, "Good night then?"

John deposited his things near the door, toeing his shoes off, ignoring Sherlock completely as he went to the fridge to grab a Bass. "Was an alright night, had some excitement at the surgery yesterday, got the NHS excited."

Sherlock made a none committal noise, "Those drugs are going into a new street drug. Not sure of the name yet, but it's rumored to cause the user to enter a psychosis like state when high, and leave them absolutely no memory of what happened while in this state, just a lingering feeling of euphoria." Sherlock looked up from his slide, noted the look on John's face, and quickly added, "Not your fault John, or Sarah's. I'm on the trail, so the drug shouldn't even make it to the street phase."

John frowned, his hips leaning against the counter top, "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Have you made any new leads last night, something that will actually help all of this nonsense stop?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows in concentration before lifting his head. His opalescent eyes lifted to look John in the face, "And sleeping with the enemy is helping?" He raised a challenging brow, sitting back to await what John might do.

John blinked, completely and utterly at a loss for words, other then a choked out, "What?"

Sherlock smirked, "Oh, don't worry John, of course you wouldn't know. There's no way you could have. I needed you to be close to him so I could observe him. He's an interesting man, quite intelligent, definitely not an investment banker, well, not in the professional sense of the term." Sherlock bent over his microscope again to refocus the lens against the slide.

John was even more lost, "I repeat once more, _what the bloody hell are you talking about Sherlock_?"

Sherlock really hated to repeat himself. He knew John knew this. He sighed as he looked up once more, "Jarrett, the man you buggered last night; he's a part of all the things that are going on. He's helping Moriarty create the new drug. Your intern who stole those sample drugs works for him. He, the intern man going by Anthony, is the leader of TQA. He infiltrated your surgery because of the drug samples you guys were given to administer as needed to patients. There's a chemical in these drugs that can short circuit different synapses in the brain and create an excess amount of certain chemicals to create the high I explained before. Jarrett, one of Moriarty's many partners employed...Anthony."

John stumbled forward to fall into the chair opposite Sherlock, anger and disbelief colouring his features, "You knew that? How long have you known that particular fact?"

Sherlock blinked. He knew John would be mad, but he hadn't calculated how mad exactly, "Er…since the night you snogged him outside of the flat…I had my suspicions about him when we went into the club, but I wasn't able to substantiate my theory until I received some information from my homeless network."

John's mouth thinned into a line, his eyes blazing, "You let me cavort around with a fucking madman when you knew…_knew_ what he'd been up to? Sherlock! Do you have _any_ idea how bloody wrong that is?"

Sherlock frowned, he wondered how John wanted him to answer, "If it's any consolation, I didn't like it…"

John glared; he was beyond furious, "You, _you_ didn't like it? Bleeding Christ Sherlock, what about me?" John's hands lifted to comb back, almost violently, though his hair. His head fell back and he stared up at the ceiling for a good ten seconds, trying to keep a cap on the violent anger welling up inside of him.

"You seemed to like it better when you didn't know who he was," Sherlock said slowly, picking out his words carefully. He could feel the anger rolling off of John in waves.

John opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely speechless, "Well of course Sherlock, because he was a good guy, until my infuriating flatmate tells me he was a seedy worker for Moriarty, your…_our_ biggest enemy, and that he is behind everything going wrong at the surgery!"

"I would have intervened if I thought he'd do something to you, John. I just needed to confirm some theories. You being close with him allowed me to observe him more freely. I was able follow you two to discern certain things about him when you guys would meet up. He's not very observant, and neither are you for that matter. I really thought you'd figure me out as the old man in the pub last night. You'll have to continue your relationship with him. It's pertinent to bringing these crimes to a halt." Sherlock had explained himself the best he could so he dropped his eye to the microscope once more.

John's face turned red as he fought to keep a hold on his anger, "_What?_ Why the bloody hell would I even talk to him again…no, you know what, I'll call Lestrade right now and get this whole mess sorted," he rose from his seat to pull his mobile from his pocket.

Sherlock's eyes widened when he saw what John was doing, "No, you can't John. You'll make things worse if you call Lestrade and get the Yard involved now. More people could die as a result. I'm close to being able to give Lestrade and his men pertinent information so they can start making arrests; when I do that, then it will all end. You need to trust me." Sherlock knew John put the well-being of others before himself, so Sherlock was trying to play off of that, and found it odd that he was actually being sincere with what he said.

John lowered his mobile to glare at Sherlock, "Trust you? How can I trust you after what you just told me, after who you've been letting me spend time with; how the _fuck_ am _I_ supposed to trust _you_ after that?" John's chest was heaving after he'd shouted at Sherlock. His fists were curled tightly, one over his phone and the other in his lap. He took a few more deep breaths as he willed himself to relax, his mobile going back into his pocket.

Sherlock actually looked lost as John continued his tirade; he was, for once in his life, at a loss for words. He swallowed. Of course it was easy for him to list the reasons that John should continue to trust him, but in his endeavor to better understand the doctor, he knew it wouldn't get him anywhere if he'd list them.

"I'm not sure John." His voice was soft when it came. It seemed to shock John, because all of the anger and rage that was present on his face only moments ago-completely vanished, replaced with astonishment and shock.

"What?" John's voice squeaked out of his lips, he couldn't believe that Sherlock had admitted to not knowing something. Even something to insignificant as not knowing why John should still trust him.

Sherlock continued to look lost. Something began to gnaw at him. His insides felt like they were being twisted. He didn't like it, he didn't know what was going on, but knowing that he'd lost John's trust hurt. Sherlock wasn't used to this feeling.

"I don't know," his tone was breathless; he couldn't believe the words that were spilling unbidden from his lips.

John was very concerned now. He moved forward. Hesitatingly, he placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "You need to rest Sherlock; you've been working too hard. Get some rest and we can talk again tomorrow." He tried to make his voice as soothing as he could for the detective, hoping it would work to coax him into at least lying down for a few minutes on the sofa.

Sherlock pulled away from John's hand. He jumped to his feet, whipping around to face John as something snapped inside of him. He realised that John didn't understand just what was happening to him right now. John, simple minded John didn't understand. John never understood, it was all because of him! Sherlock's hands flew to his curls and pulled tightly. A keening sort of noise emitted from low in his throat.

"You don't get it John! I always know, I do know, but I can't list the reasons for you because I know it's not what you want to hear. I can't be clinical because it will infuriate you further. I don't want to do that. I don't know why I don't want to do that because I shouldn't care! You're supposed to be easy John, you're supposed to be easy and just go along with me, but you're not being easy right now, and I don't why I can't just tell you things and not care…" Sherlock was pacing in a tight circle between the kitchen and the living room. He reminded John of a caged animal with its back up against the wall.

John knew he shouldn't feel the way he did after Sherlock's speech, but he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "When did this all start Sherlock, when did you start caring about how the things you said would affect me?"

Sherlock slowly lowered his hands from his curls; he looked completely wretched, "I don't know…after the pool…when I saw you come around the corner and I thought you'd been the one…and then when Moriarty came out and I knew he'd used you, intended to kill you…when I saw how you looked when you walked in on Irene and me…when I heard you screaming in the lab while we were at Baskerville…" Sherlock's voice trailed off as he tried to swallow around the sudden lump of anxiety in his throat.

John blinked, he never, in his entire life, or even within the next millennia, would guess that Sherlock would have normal, well mostly normal, human feelings. He smiled softly, but then it grew when he saw the scowl sent in his direction. He moved towards Sherlock, tipping his head back so that he could look up at Sherlock, "Sherlock, what kind of feelings are you having?"

Sherlock scowled even further, he really hated what was happening right now; this was a conversation he really would have liked to never have. He could bottle up his damn emotions and never deal with them, but a compact, little army doctor just took that lid and threw it away.

"Just feelings John. Jealous when I saw you with Jarrett and your endless parade of girlfriends, remorse when I would spill hydrochloric acid on your jumper, happiness if I managed a day without ruining anything in the flat because I knew you'd be happy, pride when I could dole out deductions about a case and you'd compliment me…just things like that John, it's really very simple to see," he huffed, turning to stalk into the living room. He fell into his chair pulling his knees to his chest.

John smiled softly as he followed Sherlock into the living room. He didn't care that Sherlock's current posture said, 'Go away, do not bother me,' John crouched in front of him anyways. He placed his hands on Sherlock's ankles, his thumbs working under the trouser legs to smooth gently along the silky skin there.

"Sherlock, it's perfectly normal to have feelings…but what exactly is the nature of these feelings as they pertain to me?"

Sherlock thought seriously about ignoring in inane question, huffing out in an irritating manner, but something about feeling John's thumbs on his ankles made his skin tingle. Slowly Sherlock lifted his head from his knees, a completely wretched look on his face as he looked down to meet John's eyes, "I think I may have…romantic notions towards you," his tone was quiet, nearly a whisper as the words left his mouth.

John was stunned. He fought to keep his jaw in place, but it fell open nonetheless, gaping and trying to form a coherent thought. He almost didn't say a thing, but then the look of complete loss on Sherlock's face propelled him forward. John raised himself up on his knees. He placed his hands on Sherlock's knees, applied some pressure to have Sherlock ease his feet onto the floor. Neither man broke eye contact. John's heart beat hard against his ribs, his eyes moved over Sherlock's face in quick succession to gauge his reaction as he placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek. He gently smoothed his thumb along the prominent cheekbone, his throat suddenly going dry.

"I might feel the same way," John whispered, shuffling forward some to settle more comfortably between Sherlock's legs. John's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He saw Sherlock's mercuric eyes follow the movement. He leaned closer while Sherlock leaned down towards him. John kept their gazes locked until the final moment. His deep blue eyes fell to Sherlock's full lips, that cupid bow just begging to be sucked between his own lips. A shiver raced down John's spine, a tightening in his trousers signaling just how much this lanky man in front of him affected him.

"John," it was just a breath, a moist puff of air that glided along John's lips as it moved out of Sherlock's mouth.

"Sherlock," he responded, his tone equally breathless.

There was only a split second of hesitation before each man surged forward, their lips meeting in a shy kiss, but then John's hand went to the nape of Sherlock's neck to pull him closer. John nearly groaned at the feel of Sherlock's exotically soft lips against his own. He'd never kissed anyone with lips even remotely as sinful as Sherlock's. Sherlock stumbled along for a few moments in the kiss, but then picked up the pace. His movements following John's as the doctor's tongue poked out to trace his bottom lip. A moan escaped Sherlock's lips and John's clever little tongue dove into the great detective's mouth. Something formally taunt in the atmosphere of 221b Baker Street snapped, and Sherlock fell to the floor, his long arms gathering his army doctor tightly to his chest in an attempt to merge them together as one being through the fusion of their lips.

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**A/N: **All reviewers get cookies!


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